This Does Not Mean That Things Do Not Matter

Your wrinkled hands hold nothing
     and they are beautiful.

Your heart, an empty vessel,
     beats with perfection.

Your soul, a wind-blown leaf.

Your mind, now a grey tempest,
     was born of stillness.

Your body, a pillar of dust.

Your faith, a smile in a mirror,
     comforts a silent room.

Your love is everything
     and everything your love.

This Does Not Mean That Things Do Not Matter

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